


You Have Our Ruins and Records

by cm (mumblemutter)



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Timeline, Heroes: Volume 3, I Am Become Death, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-17
Updated: 2010-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-06 09:17:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mumblemutter/pseuds/cm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything goes boom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Have Our Ruins and Records

1.

Nathan's standing orders are to bring Peter in alive. It's not an order that's feasible in any way, Peter knows that and Nathan knows that, but that's what they are, nonetheless. Claire tried, once or twice, with René, but Peter hit her over the head the first time and shot her the second, and now she just wants him dead, to hell with what her father wants. Peter doesn't think about who Claire used to be nowadays, just who she is, right now. A Petrelli whose only true loyalty lies with a man long dead, a man whose death she still lays at Peter's feet.

"If I could," she said once, when she'd gotten him cornered in an alleyway, "I would kill you and bring you back, over and over again, just so you knew what dying felt like. Just so you'd wonder: is this going to be the last." Her hair was still blond back then, if severely tied up in the long braid she so favored, and he still, back then, tried to talk to her first before attempting to escape, but René was catching up and he could almost feel his powers start to ebb.

"I'm sorry, Claire," he said, and he teleported out on her lip curling up.

Claire never got over Noah, but Peter never held that against her. It was just how they were.

 

2.

Micah calls him from a payphone in downtown New York. Peter knows it's him, because as he ignores it and keeps walking, the next phone rings. And then the next, and the next. There are cameras everywhere, and Micah sees everything, and eventually a man in a suit, briefcase in one hand, lands smoothly in front of him and holds a cellphone out. "I, uh, I think this is for you," he says, and he sounds confused.

Peter grabs the cell, "Thanks," and pushes him out of the way. The man gives a startled shout of protest, but he doesn't chase after Peter as he strides away. Peter never expects them to. "What do you want, kid," Peter says, because it annoys Micah whenever someone calls him kid.

"You're the one looking for me, remember? How can I help you, Peter?" Always so polite, this boy.

"There's a factory in Michigan. High level security. I need in."

 

  
_03/09_   


Back in the early days, back before he wasn't Public Enemy Number One and he could still walk in, relatively easy, to the White House, more often than not, Nathan wasn't there. Or he was there, only he was busy. "Your brother's the President," Tracy told him once, her eyes obscured by huge sunglasses and her thoughts mainly filled with boredom and impatience towards him. "Surely you can't still expect him to drop everything because you need him." Tracy was nothing like Heidi, who had always been fond of him, if slightly resentful of Peter's importance in Nathan's life. She didn't have any patience for their drama, especially not Peter's.

He bit back a spiteful inclination to go, _had him first, you know_, just to see if her face would crack, if she'd even care, or pity him like Noah did, and said instead, "Just tell him I was here. Again." If he concentrated hard enough he could hear Nathan's thoughts, focused and decisive. Making plans that would change the world. For a second he contemplated just shoving himself into Nathan's mind, until Nathan came around to find him, but it was a fleeting thought and he pushed it, and Nathan, out of his head.

"Next time, call first," Tracy said to his retreating back.

Peter stopped and turned around, reached one finger out to touch a vase sitting on the nearby mantlepiece. Watched as it turned to ice and shattered. "Thanks," he said to her. "For that," and she flinched.

 

3.

Peter's never been able to fully absorb all of Micah's ability. Never been able to fully understand and talk to machines the way Micah does. He doesn't much care, both about the power or what the extent of Micah's abilities are, so long as Micah remains firmly on his side. "Try not to kill anyone tonight," Micah's saying now. He's brought Monica along with him, she scowls at Peter, telegraphing a dislike that Peter doesn't need to mindread to understand. That's okay though, he doesn't need them to like him, just do what he says.

Peter shrugs. "Things go down. People die." He ignores Micah's frown to ask instead, "We ready?"

"Ready enough. I think they have a new Technopath. He's trying to block me from overriding the security locks."

"Is he as good as you are?"

"No," Micah says simply, and that's that.

In the end, five dead is collateral damage he can live with, but Micah's furious. He waits until Peter teleports the three of them safely out of there, and then he turns on him. "I'll teach you how to use my ability if that's what you want. I don't care anymore. You can be the one-man army that will save the world, all on your own. I'm out."

Monica's still glaring at him, and Peter knows, if she could, she'd punch him right in the face. No-one dares, of course, but she's about the closest to. "Yeah, if he goes, I go. We take the network with us."

It's a speech Micah's given before, that they've both given before, but not one Peter ever takes seriously. Micah still believes in him, believes that the prophecies of the end of the world are real. The entire resistance does.

"I'm sorry?" He tries, and it sounds as ridiculous to his ears as it must to Micah's, because he only rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. "People die," Peter says again, with finality. "Better a few now than everyone later." But he's tired already, of Micah's stubbornly resolute moral compass, so he just says, "Fine, whatever. I'll be in touch," and teleports out.

 

4.

It used to be easier. Back before they figured out that the only way to fight people that could do anything was to be prepared for everything, they'd walk right into facilities, practically unarmed. Now it seems like every other person working in the labs has an ability of some sort, and you never know how many of them will be able to resist mind-control or tell a lazy security system to snap back into action. Some facilities have employees whose jobs are basically to just sit there and make sure no-one could use any sort of power to get in. They keep it unpredictable, so you have to keep changing your game. Too many variables and far too many surprises, and far too many people in charge who know exactly what they are dealing with, and how to overcome it. Peter doesn't mind so much, he's always enjoyed a good challenge.

 

  
_06/10_   


The first time Peter killed someone, they were taking down a Pinehearst research facility masquerading as a paper company. Everyone screaming and running as the sprinklers went off, after Peter stunned the guards and Micah made every single door open, turned computer systems off and informed security cameras that what they really needed to be doing was transmit static.

Sometimes it was a research lab and there was nothing but people in lab coats and terminals of computers and vials of blood, and sometimes it was a holding lab and they had to unhook people from machines, rows and rows of them slowly coming to. Micah never lost focus, never wavered from his path, and at some point Peter forgot he was practically a kid, started looking at him as a fellow soldier. This time it was both.

It was a suit who came at them with a gun. He slammed the man into the nearest wall without thinking, almost felt his entire body _pop_ as he hit it, as Peter squeezed with his mind until there was no-one inhabiting that body anymore. He barely noticed Micah staring at him in horror, until his sleeve was grabbed and Micah said, quietly, "Don't. Don't do that again. No-one needs to die here tonight." Back then, Peter believed him, nodded his head shakily with a mouth that was suddenly filled with bile. Never mind that the guy probably deserved to die. Never mind that this place was where they stuffed people exactly like him, like them, to be experimented on or left indefinitely to die.

"Come on," he'd said. "We have a lot of people to rescue, and not nearly enough time to do it."

They managed to get at least half of the people out, before the airstrike came, and Peter shielded Micah's body with his own and teleported them both out of there, not two seconds before everything around them turned to fire.

That was also the first time Peter realized: the game was changing. No-one cared about accountability anymore, about being faced with questions over death tolls and human rights violations. He told Micah that, but Micah was always smarter than he was, and he already knew. He wiped furiously at his face and said, "Did we just get all those people killed."

"No," Peter said. "You can't blame yourself. It was their fault. Not ours. We just need to be more careful next time, that's all. Plan for all contingencies." Not believing the words even as he said them, not trusting himself to say anything more for fear he'd break down himself. Missing Nathan suddenly, painfully, borderline ridiculously: I fucked up bad, Nathan. Tell me what to do. But that was a million lifetimes ago, and neither one of them was that guy anymore.

Micah just sat down, folded his body onto the floor and hugged himself tight. Peter knelt down beside him and wrapped an awkward arm around him. Micah turned his face into Peter's chest almost immediately, sobbed quietly into his shirt, and Peter thought about how young he was, and how the man's body had just burst in his grip, and how, for a brief, startling moment, it had been just about the best sensation in the world. "I'm sorry," Peter said. "Next time. We do better."

 

5.

Sometimes he thinks that he's wrong. That Nathan's not the key, not the one who started all this. And sometimes Peter wishes that he'd paid more attention to Nathan's thoughts, back when Nathan still traveled without his army of bodyguards and René or the new guy that's now permanently assigned to him. Back when he was just the newly elected President of the United States, his family standing proudly by his side. Peter still has pictures, keeps them for no reason that he can discern, although Nathan would say it's because Peter's always been the sentimental sort.

Back when he was still the poster child for the evo-human, and not the monster out to destroy civilization. Nathan pushed him out, the empath do-gooder who only wanted to help save the world. Peter Parker without the spidey-suit, it took the focus off of Nathan, made his ability to fly seem harmless by comparison. Quaint, almost. On a planet with people who could bend time and space, control minds, start fires or freeze things with their bare hands and kill everyone within a five block radius with a single tear, well, Nathan was just about what they needed. "I'm not sure about all this," Peter told Nathan once, after yet another press conference, yet another round of the photographers' flash in his face.

Nathan just cupped Peter's neck with his fingers, said, mildly condescendingly, "No, trust me, Pete. We're going to do great things together." His mind telegraphing: _God, how long do I have to keep holding his hand though every single thing._ Peter punched him then, without thinking, and teleported out in the middle of Nathan's slow fall to the ground.

In retrospect, he probably should have just stayed away, not allowed himself to get dragged back into the circus that was the public life. But he couldn't. Not then, and not now.

 

  
_07/09_   


It was the first and just about only time he'd tried to kill Nathan. The knife slippery and hot in his hand, and he'd hesitated, far too long, enough time for Nathan's instincts to kick in. He'd lashed out with a flat palm against Peter's wrist and Peter's face had gotten in the way of the resulting forward motion. The pain he was used to, the blood on his face and in his eyes as well, but it was Nathan cradling his face in his arms, urgently saying his name over and over again, that he couldn't take.

He'd woken up in a chair, his face bandaged and his arms and legs restrained, Nathan standing above him, blood still drying on his shirt. "They say you're a terrorist, Peter. That you're plotting against us. Against me."

"I'm trying to save the world."

"Yeah, I've heard that one before, Pete. Notice how it always ends with you doing anything but. Kirby Plaza. The virus. How many times do I have to rescue you before you stop self-destructing and trying to take us all with you." Nathan picked up the knife and held it gingerly, one palm flat against the butt and a finger on the sharp, blood-stained point. "You tried to kill me," he said, almost wonderingly.

"I did - Nathan. You don't understand. What I've seen."

But of course Nathan did. Peter flinched when Nathan leaned down, but all he did was wrap his arm around Peter's shoulders and kiss him on the temple, the way he always would. "I'll keep you safe, Peter. I promised Ma."

In the end, Nathan always did what he thought was best.

 

6.

Peter flies to the White House because he can't directly teleport there anymore. He lands on the balcony right outside Nathan's window, gracelessly because his body's already forgetting it knows how to fly. Nathan never sleeps without a power suppressor standing guard.

Peter won't get his powers back here and more often than not he has to wait until morning, scowling at Nathan until he finally deigns to make that phone call and Peter can teleport or fly out. One of these days, he'll just walk right out the door and see what happens. Nathan's staff aren't stupid: they know. Maybe Claire does too. But none of them are in any position to disobey Nathan's direct orders, and on nights like these, Nathan's orders are always to stay the fuck away.

Peter still keeps the knife tucked into his boot. Sometimes when Nathan sleeps, after, draped openly over the bed as if he has no reason to be afraid, Peter will take it out, run the flat blade of it over Nathan's skin. Goosebumps will rise but Nathan never stirs beyond a slight shift, a hand that will unconsciously seek out Peter's.

Nathan should never let his guard down, and Peter should take advantage of it when he does. In truth: Nathan's fully aware that Peter will never be strong enough. He always ends up here, ends up kissing the hollow of Nathan's neck, rearranging heavy, compliant limbs until he's satisfied, until Nathan stirs, barely awake, and then Peter will fuck him again, and again, and Nathan will never resist.

Sometimes Peter thinks if he buries himself deep enough under Nathan's skin, digs past flesh and skin and bone, he'll manage to get his message through, and Nathan will believe. But that won't happen. Nathan's still the President, and Peter. Peter's the guy with the cardboard sign at the street corner, yelling about the end of the world.

"I should have killed you," he tells Nathan, wraps his fingers around Nathan's throat and squeezes. "Back when it would have made a difference." Nathan coughs, and grabs at his wrist with slippery fingers, but not that hard. This is Nathan's idea of benediction. Of turning Peter into an animal to be hunted down and killed on sight. "I should have," Peter says, and leans down to kiss Nathan on the side of his mouth. He tries to move away, but Nathan's other hand is suddenly on the back of his neck, holding him there, and his kiss is bruising and relentless.

 

  
_03/08_   


The last time Gabriel was Sylar, he was strapped to a bed in a storage facility, a place meant to secure one, and only one, prisoner. The mark of Noah all over it. Peter never quite trusted Noah alone with Sylar, but the important thing was that Sylar did. "You should talk to him," Mom said.

"He's a mass murderer, or have you forgotten that?"

"He's a lost boy who desperately wants a family worthy of his gifts." She reached out and adjusted Peter's shirt collar, and Peter almost flinched away before he remembered who she was. "Besides, once the hunger is under control-"

"You believe that?"

"What's important isn't what's true, Peter. But what Sylar believes is true."

"His name is Gabriel," Peter said, and Mom smiled. "And we're not his family."

"So long as he never finds out." She hugged him then, and very often when she did that nowadays he saw it for what it was rather than what she wanted him to think it was. He took comfort in it nonetheless. At least some things never changed. The way she touched him. The way Nathan touched him: I have what you crave. Love, comfort, reassurance. Just trust in me and do whatever it is I tell you to. He pulled away before she was ready to let him go, and he gave her credit for masking her surprise well. "Go talk to your brother, Peter. Convince him to go the right way."

Noah brought him down, said, "We're making progress. He's not killed anyone in over a week now."

"A week?"

"It was just an orderly. Not a big deal." He stopped in his tracks, and put his hand on Peter's arm. "This is important, Peter. His powers. Don't fuck this up."

"Hey," Peter said, as they reached the cell door and Noah started keying in the security code. "He's my brother. Family takes care of one another, right, Noah?"

Sylar was sleeping, but Peter sat down next to him and he opened his eyes. "Hello, Peter," he said, and Peter kept his thoughts deliberately neutral and calm, even though as far as he could tell, Sylar didn't have that particularly ability yet.

"I heard you're doing well." Peter put his hand on Sylar's shoulder and squeezed, and Sylar responded with a wan smile.

"I feel terrible about that man that I killed. I suppose you could consider that a positive sign."

"Every man needs a conscience, Gabriel. I have faith in you." He leaned closer and tightened his grip, not even thinking about what he was doing until his lips were on Sylar's forehead. "You're my brother, us Petrellis have to stick together, right?"

"Tell that to our older brother."

"Nathan's always been." He paused, and finally found the right word to use. "Weak." And even this close, he could feel Sylar smile.

Bennet said afterwards, "You should visit more often. I believe it might help."

"Yeah, I'll pencil it in on my calender. Visit my other power-crazy brother." He stopped and let Bennet walk ahead a few steps in front of him before saying, "I'll see you later, Noah. Say hi to Claire for me."

 

7.

There's a man whose face is wrapped in shadow even when Peter paints the future, focuses all his energy on revealing him. Gabriel says that perhaps it's just Nathan, but Peter doesn't quite know what to make of it. It's wishful thinking on his part, mostly, that it might be someone else. Someone else who's responsible for Nathan's actions, for spreading the formula around like an expensive viral infection, because then it would all stop, perhaps. Too much protection, too many walls. Micah's got his ear to the data stream and there's a boy in Beijing that can do what Molly Parkman does, only better, but neither one of them can find this one person. "Are you sure he's even real," Micah asks once, quietly dubious. "That it's not just Nathan."

"No - I. Yeah, okay. You can stop looking. I don't care anymore." Faith slipping away every single day. He'd asked God once, demanded answers for this mess, but whatever God that exists apparently only speaks to his brother these days.

"You can't save him, you know." Micah says, and Peter scowls. He knows. Everyone knows. It's the opposite of what he was once assigned to do. His finger's on the trigger as it is, and he's just biding time right now, making excuses. Hoping something, somehow, will change.

 

8.

Sometimes, Nathan will trace the scar on Peter's face, and Peter will say, "Remember when you gave this to me," but without rancor.

"It was your knife, Pete," is Nathan's only reply.

 

9.

It's become a running joke among the resistance: Peter Petrelli can't kill his brother. Not one that anyone besides Gabriel dares tell to his face, they're all too afraid of him, but Peter's acutely aware that his constant failure is a point of conversation. Gabriel pretends to understand, or at least he thinks he does, he tells Peter with all seriousness that you couldn't choose your family, but you couldn't betray them at the same time. That Nathan is his brother too. Peter's too old and too tired, but a large part of him wants to wave his arms and go: Nathan is my brother. Mine and only mine.

What Gabriel doesn't say, but lies heavily between his lines, is that Nathan's already fired the first salvo, already betrayed Peter, and his loyalty shouldn't lie with the man that had him locked up for half a year at Pinehearst. What he doesn't say, is that three people died in the drive to get him out of there, because he was important. Because what he could do, no-one else could. Hiro Nakamura's face looking down at him after he'd removed the drug feed, saying, "Hello, Peter. Long time. You look like hell," the night they came for him. They'd just missed Nathan's visit, and it was a shame, they could have just ended the war right then and there.

"How's our brother, Peter," Gabriel says, when Peter returns from the White House.

"Alive and well. Sleeping it off. I wear him out, you know how it goes." A punch in the arm, Gabriel still thinks he's kidding, although there is never anything remotely resembling humor on Peter's face. The underlying point is the same: Peter can't kill Nathan because Nathan is his brother and Peter loves him.

He sabotages a factory in Madrid and Nathan makes a speech on television. He destroys a shipment heading towards the United States and Nathan makes a speech on television. Terrorism will not be tolerated. We will bring these murderers, these monsters, to justice. Tracy by his side, Claire in the shadows. The man he promises to God he'll take down: visiting him in the night, tracing his lies with his tongue and the tips of his fingers. Nathan always has things under control, and that includes Peter.

 

10.

He still paints the future, more often than not, in Isaac's - now Mohinder's, loft. The future is in flux, and that's just about all he knows. Things come true, or they don't. The only thing that's consistent is the end of the world, the end of the world, the end of the entire fucking world. Mohinder is always there, but he rarely speaks to Peter. Instead Peter speaks to him, when he's not painting. "I saved someone's life today, Suresh. Remember when that used to give me some measure of satisfaction? Yeah, it really doesn't anymore. What do you have to say about that?"

Sometimes there'll be a sound, vague scuttling of claws against hard surface, above him or behind him or to the left of him. Peter will turn his head slightly, and the sound will disappear briefly before resuming elsewhere. There's a vaguely human-like shape sometimes as well, coming and going in the shadows. "You don't have to be afraid, you know," Peter says. "I won't hurt you."

"I'm not worried about that, Peter." The voice is coming from directly above Peter, but this time Peter doesn't raise his head. "How's Molly?" It's one of the few consistent questions that Mohinder asks. How's Molly, and sometimes, how's Matt. Peter tells him, different sides in a war that will end them all, but he's not quite sure it's ever registered.

"Molly's good. She says she misses you."

"Hmm," Mohinder says, from the far end of the room. Peter waits, but he doesn't say anything more so he picks up a paintbrush instead, concentrates on forming a picture on the blank canvas in front of him. Being blind and singularly focused on one narrow thing that's made up of colors and light doesn't make him comfortable, but maybe that's another reason why he likes to paint here: Mohinder at least, or whatever's left of him, is still on his side.

He frowns when he sees the completed painting, at what it implies. All paths, leading to the same place eventually. "Boom," Mohinder says, and he sounds almost gleeful. "Everything falls apart."

 

11.

It's Micah that informs him that Tokyo went nuclear. Peter had been off-grid for a while, the usual MO after an operation, but Micah finds him in his hut in the Himalayas, had a speedster bring him there. The recorded news bulletin that he shows Peter makes him stagger, once the enormity of what had happened sinks in, and the first word on his mind is: Hiro. "No contact," Micah says. "I don't think he made it out."

"Maybe I could go back, and find him before this happens." But they both know, you don't just change the past at your whim. It wouldn't have been what Hiro wanted in the first place. "Do they know why?"

"No, but we do. Six-year-old twins. They got scared."

 

  
_10/09_   


Pinehearst was mostly dreaming, interspersed with moments of sharp clarity, like when Nathan visited him. Nathan came often. He put his hand on Peter's chest and he never asked anymore, if Peter would change his mind and join him in his psychosis. Instead he told Peter inane, pointless stories about the world outside. Like how there was a debate whether to change sporting rules or not, whether to continue to ban evos from any professional sport or to allow them to start their own league.

"Funny how many people who dream of becoming baseball stars or basketball players have unerring aim or the ability to fly. They'd probably have to change the rules entirely of course, and no telling how popular it will be, a lot of people just simply hate them. But they have a legitimate voice, and you can't stop progress. Basketball in the air. Imagine that."

"Quidditch," Peter said, and he never even bothered to fight against his restraints anymore. "Hey, I'd watch that."

"What?" Nathan said, not really paying attention. Nathan never paid attention, he just came and sat down next to Peter, brushed his hair away from his forehead or kissed his cheek. Sometimes his lips, when he thought no one was watching. Peter once mustered enough strength to kiss him back, and Nathan sighed, his entire body relaxing into it as Peter opened his mouth, and it took all of his will to bite down hard instead of letting it just happen. Nathan cried out and reared back, but he didn't react in any other way except to wipe his lip with the back of his palm and sigh as Peter snarled at him through a mouthful of blood.

"I hate you," he said then, and resolutely closed his eyes.

"I know, Pete," was Nathan's tired response. "I know."

The next time he came his lip was already healed, and that was how Peter started to measure time, by taking note of Nathan's visits. The man was always a stickler for schedules. Nathan liked to run his thumb along Peter's face, and wherever he touched felt odd, Peter could feel the ridge in his own skin from the pressure of Nathan's touch. "It left a scar," he said. "I'm sorry."

"If you'd let me go and allow me to heal." But that was never going to happen, and after a while he looked forward to the times when the drugs were at their heaviest, when the seconds blended into minutes into hours into days, when it was just haze. After a while, even the nightmares were a blessing. The end of the world, at least, meant the end of this.

 

12.

"I painted it, Gabriel. It happens." He's pacing up and down in Gabriel's living room. Noah's long gone to bed, but Gabriel still looks to the bedroom door once in a while as if to reassure himself that his son is still breathing, still dreaming little boy dreams that don't involve the apocalypse.

"But you've been painting and dreaming of this for years. How is it different now?"

Peter frowns. "I'm not sure. It just looks different somehow. Like a specific event rather than a worldwide nuclear meltdown. I can't see where, or how. I tried."

"You mean like Tokyo?"

"Not like Tokyo," Peter says. "Like I was responsible, somehow." He's not sure how, he can't paint anything more specific than the blood red fireball, but he knows it instinctively. "Maybe you could-"

"I'm sorry, Peter. I really can't." He sounds as if he means it, but Peter wants to put a fist through his face nonetheless. Gabriel once compared his situation to being an alcoholic. There was no such thing as just one drink, and Peter understood that, mostly, but it irritated him. All the time both Noah and he had spent on crafting the only weapon that could match Peter's, and what they got in the end was a tee-totaller who drank tea and read bedtime stories to his son.

Noah told him once, "Hey, at least we managed to stop him from murdering any more people," but that didn't reassure Peter as much as Noah might have thought it would. "Would you like another glass of water," Gabriel says, and Peter shakes his head no, walks to the window. Out here, everything's so calm and quiet. A picture perfect life for the picture perfect family man.

"Something's coming," he says, "And I can't stop it." He runs his fingers along the glass, lets small streaks of electricity flare, bright and blue. Behind him, a child's plaintive voice, and Gabriel's footsteps as he approaches the nursery door.

 

13.

Micah keeps moving his headquarters. "It's the only way to keep safe," he explains to Peter. "Besides, all I really need is my laptop and a working cell."

This time when he materializes in, Hana is there as well, her gun pressed to the back of Peter's head just about the second he appears. "Yeah, that's helpful. Get that fucking thing away from my head."

"Only weak spot, right. I remember." Her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes, but she puts her weapon away.

There's a boy of about eight, sitting on the couch in the middle of the room, pale and staring wide-eyed at Peter. Peter scans his mind, finds nothing but babbling terror, then turns to Hana. "Who is that?"

"Kid we're helping disappear. They managed to get his parents, but I figure they didn't code him yet, why he managed to escape." Micah smiles at the boy, and he manages to look slightly less terrified, but only just.

"What does he do?"

"Sucks the oxygen out of the air."

"That's an interesting one."

"Only if you don't need to breathe."

"Huh," Peter says, and steps closer to the boy. He shrinks back from Peter, deeper into the couch. Hana runs her fingers through the boy's hair, whispers something into his ears, and he gets up quickly and escapes, feet thudding on the stairs as he heads upstairs. Peter waits for the door to slam shut, then turns to Hana. "What do you want," Peter says. "Oh and by the way, that thing where you stalk me and have fucking building security locks call out my name? Stop that."

"I would if you'd keep yourself better hidden," Micah says. "If I can find you so easily, so can they."

Peter sits himself down on the edge of Micah's desk and leans in to peer at what's on the screen. "What makes you think I don't want to be found. I haven't had a decent fight in a while."

Micah frowns, but only turns the laptop so that Peter can see better. "What is that?"

"That," Hana says, striding over and putting her hand on Peter's shoulder, "is a lab. Or should I say, _the_ lab."

"You know how you can only buy the formula if you have the money or are one of the fortunate few to be selected for testing?"

"Sure."

"I think that's about to change," Micah says.

They'd intercepted an email, or Hana had, "They're usually so encrypted I can't even hope to touch them, that is when they even use emails to begin with, but there was a low level clerk who emailed a guy who emailed another guy and then some senator who I think forgot how not to press the 'reply to all' button, and, well."

 

  
_11/10_   


Peter would visit Hiro Nakamura sometimes in his warehouse in Tokyo, where he did nothing but string together time-lines to see how to fix things, what moment to change the past at so this future wouldn't happen. Hiro was never quite the same again after Ando joined Pinehearst. "Not so simple as 'save the cheerleader, save the world' anymore, huh?" Peter asked once.

"If only," Hiro said, and ran one hand along a bright blue line. "All I can figure right now is if Nathan Petrelli - if your brother, doesn't become President. But there are too many variables, and no specific time that I can see that wouldn't send us down possibly an even worse path."

Peter ducked under the string to end up next to Hiro. Fingered a newspaper clipping that read, "Nathan Petrelli elected as President of the United States of America: the dawn of a different world." Nathan's smiling face, and Tracy standing next to him. His own face, tilted and staring straight at Nathan instead of out to the camera, beaming and proud. "I'll figure it out eventually," he said, at Peter's look. "It will just take a little more time. Nathan is the key, though."

"Let's hope it's as easy as just making sure he loses," Peter said, and Hiro afforded him a small, distantly amused smile.

 

14.

They have a plan, more or less. Peter mostly wants to destroy everything, or at the very least get his hands on the formula, but they most likely have copies of it kept safe, so the very best they can hope for is destroying whatever's there. Either that or they get extremely lucky and the catalyst is there. Peter doesn't have much hope for that though, he long figured out that they kept moving the catalyst from person to person, so you'd always be catching up.

"They keep the communication tech down to a minimum," Hana tells him, "And whatever they do use is protected. If I could get in though, gain access. We could do some damage." Her smile is thin but hopeful. "Micah says he can use me as a portal, if I could just gain access to a terminal. I tried to infiltrate the network the other day, but I can't figure out what system they're using and I caused cell towers in five states to go down." She scowls. "I hate this. It's as if I'm blind."

Peter says, "Maybe I can try," but she shoots him a look, and he doesn't bring it up again. Hana's ability is one he understands even less than Micah's, if that were possible, and it distracts him to the point where he never even bothers accessing it anymore because otherwise he can't function.

The facility is paranoia built on top of paranoia. Forcefields and electrified fences and cameras watching, silently, for even the slightest hint of movement. Deadly force authorized within a hundred yards, an automated weapons system that went rat-a-tat-tat each time a racoon wandered too near and got blown to pieces for its troubles. Evo-humans guarding the perimeter, fighting fire with fire at the dawn of this sparkling new age. "And that's just the outside," Micah tells him, and Peter nods his head, focuses in on himself so he can feel and see what Micah does. The network of interconnected security systems, failsafes and backups, all designed with one purpose in mind: to keep people like them out. It's surprisingly small, but from the schematics Micah procures from them they figure out that there's both a holding facility and a research lab. "Maybe sixty or seventy people, sedated. I can read their heart-signals."

"So rescue and search-and-destroy?" Peter frowns and considers the logistics.

"We can probably do this," Micah says. "Tao tells me the catalyst might be in there."

At that Peter snaps himself away from the quiet electrical hum of all the machines, talking to themselves and chattering at him, white noise only not at all. "I thought Tao couldn't catch him."

"Yeah, don't ask me how he managed it, I mean he explained it to me but I don't quite get it. Tao says hi, by the way. And also that you're an asshole and if you ever drop into his kitchen unannounced again and scare his mom half to death he will tell Pinehearst where you are. His words, not mine. You're not very popular."

Peter frowns. "If he's inside, and we can get to him -"

"Then maybe we can win this war." Micah looks tired, and he looks hopeful, and Peter tries a smile, but he's pretty much forgotten how and Micah only looks startled instead. Peter almost feels like apologizing, but in the end he only shrugs.

"How many people can we spare."

"Six, maybe seven, if Hana can get back from the operation in Tunisia in time."

"Good enough I guess," Peter says, and he closes his eyes again, pictures the facility through the eyes of all the cameras watching everyone inside.

Micah takes his hand and says, "We go tomorrow."

"Yeah, okay."

 

  
_02/10_   


Claire came storming in, a blond ball of fury and rage, asked him to turn on the news. It was Nathan's face, just like it was always Nathan's face, and it took a while for Peter to register what he was saying, the usual, really, attempted sabotage of a containment facility. "We were fortunate that we have good men and women willing to sacrifice themselves to protect this great nation from those who would choose to destroy it." Casualties, mostly on the side of the saboteurs. He turned to Claire, a still life portrait of grief, asking a question she already knew the answer to. "Where's Noah, Peter. Where's my dad."

"I'm sorry, Claire. We needed to get Danko, and Noah didn't want to risk sending you."

"My Dad," Claire said, and he'd never heard her sound so cold. "My Dad was only trying to protect me. I told you not to send him out there, he has no powers, he can't fight back. I told him-" She collapsed then, staggered, but when Peter went to catch her she shrugged him off, and her eyes were dry when she said, "You both should have listened to me." Peter would always remember that day as the day that Claire Bennet, indestructible girl, died.

 

15.

Sixteen, and he never once thought of becoming a superhero. Sixteen and he hated his father and mostly resented his mother even though he knew that she, at least, loved him. Sixteen and he'd come home from school, tie loosened and itching to get out of his uniform, tossing his bag carelessly onto the living room floor before he noticed Nathan leaning in the doorway, tall and impossibly handsome in his uniform, smiling at him. Everything changed that year.

Nathan who hugged him like he was the most important person in the world, and spoke to him as if he were an adult, and who managed to even be there, sometimes, when Peter needed him. Like now, when he tilted Peter's head back to examine the shiner on his face. "I hope the other guy looks far worse," was all he said though, and Peter scowled.

"Did Ma call you? Because if she did-"

"No, she didn't call me." Nathan let him go, but only to press his fingers gently against Peter's cheekbones. "Okay, maybe she did. But I had shore leave coming up anyway. I would have gotten here in either case." Nathan didn't ask any more questions after that, except for whether he'd won, and when Peter shrugged and ducked his head, he only said, "Maybe I'll teach you how to fight, eh?"

They went for dinner instead, after he'd changed, and he was so grateful that Nathan didn't make him eat with Mom and Dad, with Mom's silent disappointment and Dad's constant disdain. The Petrellis didn't get into fights, not with their fists like common thugs, or so Dad said. Personally Peter didn't put much pay into the words of a man who defended mobsters for a living, although when he ranted at Nathan at the restaurant, Nathan only said mildly, "He's our father, Pete. He only wants the best for us."

"No, Nathan. That's what he wants for you. I was the unplanned pregnancy that Mom refused to terminate."

"Don't say that," Nathan said, and Peter was mildly shocked into silence by the tone in his voice. He grabbed Peter's wrist and said again, this time lower and leaning into Peter's space. "Don't ever say that."

"Why," Peter said, when he could speak again. "It's true." He didn't argue the point though, just looked away and closed his eyes, and eventually Nathan let go of his wrist.

The house was silent when they finally reached home, and Peter said, "Hey, come up to my room for a while? Just to talk. I don't think I can sleep." He was, in fact, more than a little bit drunk, and it was that, when Nathan was sitting propped up against his bed with his uniform jacket off and laughing at some joke that Peter had made, that made him whisper, made him press against Nathan and say, "Maybe you should, you know. Teach me how to fight."

Nathan only laughed again, and grabbed him in a friendly headlock. But Peter balled his hands into fists and pushed against Nathan's chest, and then Nathan's laugh was fading and he was grabbing Peter's wrists easily and shoving him down, flat on his back with Nathan mostly pressed on top of him. Peter squirmed half-heartedly, but eventually he just said softly, "Okay, you win."

"Oh really, you think so." But then Nathan's smile faded, and his entire frame stiffened suddenly, and he blinked, slowly and lazily, and their bodies were so close Peter could feel Nathan's heart beat through his chest. "Peter," Nathan said. "Peter," and then he jerked away and sat up straight, rubbed his face wearily with his hands.

Peter realized then, suddenly, sharply, that Nathan hadn't come home for _him_, of course he hadn't, but his disappointment disappeared under concern, and he put his hand on Nathan's shoulder and leaned in, "Are you okay, Nathan? What's wrong? Is it about law school, because I know Dad -"

"Fuck, Pete," Nathan swore, and Peter almost flinched away from the tone of his voice, agonized and infuriated all in one. "Not everything's about _Dad_, if I wanted to talk about it I would. Can't we just focus on your little personal crisis instead?" Peter wasn't quite sure how to react to that, so instead he just allowed his head to fall on Nathan's chest and his arms to wrap around his waist. Nathan stilled, and when Peter looked up at him he said, "Don't - don't do that," and his eyes were pitch black and desperate and needy and lost, and Peter kissed him.

Sixteen, and he'd often thought, over the years, over nights spent drifting in and out of each other's lives, all their other relationships changing and transitory, of clandestine blowjobs in a closet during a family dinner or a hurried handjob in Nathan's office or slow, endless nights in Nathan's apartment when he still lived alone, or Peter's when he finally got his own, of marriage and divorce and numerous girlfriends and one night stands, he'd often thought that this one thing that bound them together, besides the fact that they were _brothers_, would never change. And in many ways it didn't.

On the bed, Nathan stirs, and sleepily opens his eyes. "Pete," he says, and he sounds surprised. "You leaving? It's early yet."

"No, not yet." He gets up from the chair and kneels down next to the bed, puts his hand on Nathan's chest, slides slowly down. "I wish you'd make this easy," he says.

Nathan smiles. "Funny, I've been saying that about you for years."

"So long as I'm alive, right?"

"You can't die, Peter. Maybe here, but just about only." He yawns, and grabs ahold of Peter's wandering hand, pushes it down to where he wants it. "You're safe here, you know. Always."

"Always, Nathan. You're not as good a liar as you think." He watches Nathan's face as he jerks him off, the way it goes slack and unreserved, the way he keeps his eyes half open, and his fingers will come up automatically to wrap around the back of Peter's neck. The way Peter's name will always be on his lips when he comes. "I love you, Nathan." Peter says, and kisses him.

This is the night, then, that he walks right out of Nathan's bedroom. The man that must be the new power-suppressor jerks his head up briefly, but goes right back to reading his book without acknowledging Peter's presence. Peter stalks down mostly empty hallways, bypasses Secret Service guys that also either avoid his gaze or do so once Peter tells them to. He's pretty sure he's lost at some point, but he spies a window and is headed there when a voice from behind him says, "Peter."

Peter stops, and slowly turns around. "Hello, Claire. You're up late. Or should I say early." Her hair is loose for once, tumbling down her shoulders in a soft wave, and she doesn't look her usual state of angry, just curious. He knows she's taking in his disheveled state, the way he probably reeks of sex. "How's your family, Claire? They good?"

"You mean Mom and Lyle? They're fine. Nathan actually lives up to his promises when he says he'll take care of you."

Peter doesn't bother asking: at what cost. Claire's fully aware of the cost, but in many ways she's exactly like both her fathers. Protection above all else. Alive is good enough. "Are you going to shoot me," he says, because her hand is hidden behind her back, and if he knows Claire, she's not unarmed even here, even when it's allegedly safe.

Claire only shakes her head. "Nathan wouldn't approve. You'll make a mess." She waves at her surroundings dismissively, at the expensive wallpaper and soft curtains and plush flooring. "He always over-reacts when it comes to you." She says it without bitterness, just resignation, and eventually Peter realizes he's free to leave. "I'll see you soon, Peter."

 

16.

It's a trap, of course it is.

Everything goes boom.

 

17.

The pressure of the power-suppressor weighing heavily on him, slowing his reflexes, slowing everything down, until it's as if he's trying to walk through water. It's only luck then that he recognizes the man, Nathan's man, coming at him, and in the struggle he doesn't notice Micah, coming up behind him. It's Peter's gun that he uses, right into the guy's heart. Micah blinks slowly at him, face covered in a thick sheen of blood, and then he collapses. Peter feels his powers come rushing back and he wonders, briefly, if he could take on the men rushing towards them, but Micah's still not moving so he gets them out of there instead.

The sudden silence in Micah's basement is disconcerting, after the shrill wail of the alarms and the bright red warning lights and the soft snick of the sprinklers, Micah always likes the sprinklers even though it means Peter can't use electricity anymore. Possibly that's the point. He sets Micah down on the couch and examines him for wounds. Only the head, it would seem, so Peter gets out the first aid kit and patches him up. He wants to wait to make sure Micah is okay, but instead he slides down to the floor, back pressed against the leg of the couch, and closes his eyes.

When he comes around Micah's awake, staring blankly at the computer screen. "Are they all dead," he asks quietly, even before Peter steps out of the shadows. "I saw Hana go down, and Sayeed. Everyone else."

"I'm sorry," Peter says.

"The building's gone. Leveled to the ground. We probably got out just in time," Micah says then, and he turns, finally, to look at Peter, and Peter expects him to be crying, but his face is calm, almost serene in rage. "They set a trap for us, and we walked right in, like fools. We walked right in. The prisoners they kept there - they used them as bait. For us. They could have gotten them out, but they just left them there to die." He blinks, and continues, almost offhandedly. "This place has been compromised. You should probably get us out of here now."

He drops Micah off at Gabriel's, because it's the last safe place he can think off. Gabriel takes one look at them and sends Noah to his room, and it's then that Peter realizes that it's daylight, and that they both look a wreck. Gabriel offers them a shower and clothes that don't fit but will do, and when Peter comes out of the bathroom, towelling dry his hair, Micah is sitting cross-legged on the living room couch, hot cocoa in his hands and head ducked down. "Hey kid," Peter says, running a hand across Micah's soft dark curls. "You okay?"

"I killed that man."

"Yeah, I know. Don't sweat it, it was self-defense. You had no choice."

"No, I." He pauses, and he almost sounds surprised when he says, "It felt good."

 

  
_02/09_   


When the child was born, Sylar called him in the middle of the night on the number he was never supposed to use, urgent and panicked. "There's a complication," he said, "with Elle and the baby," and Peter teleported over. In the apartment, Noah was pressed against the doorway, gun in his hand, and when Peter popped in the electrical current shot through his body like a wave, making him stagger. He grabbed Noah first, pushed him out the door and into relative safety.

"She's overcharging," Noah said. "I can't calm her down. Neither can Gabriel. I'm not sure what to do - there's no hospital that can deal with her, and Primatech is still on lockdown."

"What's the gun for," Peter asked.

"If she loses it entirely." He pressed it into Peter's hand, and Peter tucked it inside his coat. "Gabriel won't do it," Noah said. "The child's the first priority."

"That the Dad speaking or the Company Man speaking?"

"That," Noah said, "is the man that knows that Gabriel can lose Elle tonight, but he can't take losing the promise of this child."

In the end, Elle died, but not on that night. Sylar held her hand while she screamed and Peter put his hand on her swollen belly, telegraphed for her to push, to breathe, it was all going to be okay, and between the two of them they managed to absorb all the electricity that she'd expelled. He died, several times that night, but the child was fine, pink and perfect and unaffected by it all.

"What are you going to name him," Noah asked, when Peter finally told him it was safe to come back in.

Sylar bent down to kiss Elle's sweat drenched forehead, gazed fondly at their blanket-wrapped child in her arms. "We haven't decided yet," Elle said. "But we'll get there eventually."

 

18.

There's no one protecting Nathan when Peter lands on his balcony window. Peter knows this because he knows René is in Paris, and the other guy who could stop him is dead. Tracy is sleeping next to him, she wakes up first and doesn't even bother with disorientation, she just reaches out, lightning fast, for what must be an alarm. Peter stops time, about a second to spare, and when he starts it again he has her hauled up and by her wrists. She doesn't bother trying to freeze him, instead she just yells, "Nathan," and Nathan stirs, jerks his head up.

"Hello, brother," Peter says. "Surprised to see me?"

"Peter, let go of my wife," Nathan says, surprisingly calm.

Peter releases her, and she jerks backwards, glaring at him. "Get out," he tells her, and she opens her mouth to protest, but when she looks to Nathan he just nods his head.

"Okay," she says. "Okay. But I'll be right outside." She turns to Peter and snaps, "You hurt him and I will end you." Peter believes her, but only waves her away with a dismissive flick of his hand. He waits until she's at the door before telling her, "Your nephew says hi by the way."

"Micah," she spins around and for once her face isn't shuttered and closed. "Don't tell me he's -"

"How sweet, it's as if you actually cared instead of trying to get him killed."

Tracy opens her mouth, but Nathan interrupts, "Peter, that's enough. Tracy, wait outside." His tone softens at the expression on her face, "Please."

She nods her head shakily, and Peter does a little finger wave at her as she leaves, shuts the door behind them resolutely.

"Was that really necessary?"

"Oh, we're questioning my behavior now? That what we're doing?" He turns to Nathan and almost snarls, "You set a trap for us. Do you know how many people died tonight?"

"What, and that bothers you suddenly?" His heart isn't in it though, and finally he just puts his elbows on his knees and rubs his face wearily. "You left us no choice, Peter. Too many casualties, too much destruction."

"Good people died tonight. _My_ people."

"It's only going to get worse. I can't stop it. Do you understand that, Peter. You think the airstrikes were bad? Think again." He stands up now, and Peter steps back automatically, but he reaches out anyway, cradles Peter's face in his hands. "I can't stop any of it," he says, and his mind is bright and clear and desperate.

"Yeah, I know." And Peter had always known, deep down, that Nathan, of all the Petrellis, was the most terrified. Terrified of failure, terrified of not living up to Mom and Dad's expectations. For the longest time, Peter reacted to that by never judging him, or always forgiving him afterwards. It's too late for all of that now. They've made their respective choices, and Peter can't save him anymore. He puts his hand over Nathan's heart, feels it thud, strong and reassuring under his palm. "Then I guess I will."

 

  
_04/09_   


His dreams were worse than the ones where he blew up New York, worse than the ones where Caitlin was trapped forever and he'd never be able to save her. Those were the past, and this was the future. The world, drifting from vaguely dystopian to nothing at all, what he'd seen, all the things that went bump in the night that would come to life. He'd wake up in the middle of the night, screaming and babbling nonsense at Nathan, but Nathan would only smooth back his sweat-laden hair and shush him like a child who'd had a bad nightmare. Not once taking him seriously.

The higher power that Nathan believed in bore more weight, always. "There is no God, Nathan. And if there is he is seriously fucking with your head. Why won't you trust me. This will happen." But this wasn't how their relationship worked. Not then, and not now.

Nathan always said, "Go back to sleep, Pete. I'll take care of everything. Don't worry. I promise."

There was a time when Peter still believed him.

 

19.

"What happens if I just kill him now," Peter asks, in Gabriel's bright, cheerful kitchen, eating waffles and watching Noah play with electric toy trains. Micah is making the trains go, faster than they should be able to. But then Micah smiles, and Peter understands, it's not Micah after all. "I could just kill him now."

"Could you," Gabriel replies, and Peter pushes his empty coffee cup towards him instead of replying. They both know, it's far too late for that. They've failed, and Nathan's replaceable. Deep down, everyone dreams of being a superhero. Of having superpowers.

"Before it all begins," Peter tells him finally. "That's the safest bet."

  


_ We were treacherous of course.  
Like anything here––  
winds, dogs, the sun––  
we could turn on you unexpectedly,  
we could let you down.  
But what was remarkable about us  
and which you will not believe  
is that we alone,  
with the exception of a few pets  
who probably learned it from us,  
when betrayed  
were frequently surprised. _

**Author's Note:**

> Title and verse taken from [Report on Human Beings](http://community.livejournal.com/greatpoets/2834155.html) by Michael Goldman.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Son of War](https://archiveofourown.org/works/125737) by [milleniumrex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/milleniumrex/pseuds/milleniumrex)




End file.
